


Scenes From a Relationship

by CricketJames



Category: Outlander & Related Fandoms, Outlander (TV), Outlander (TV) RPF
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-01
Updated: 2016-10-13
Packaged: 2018-04-29 11:16:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,017
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5125481
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CricketJames/pseuds/CricketJames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Random short snippet fics of typical, usually mundane, moments in a relationship. Ratings are all over the place, but anything higher than PG-13/Light R is notated at the beginning of the chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. To Bed, Or To Sleep?

**Author's Note:**

> This first snippet is an unbeta’d little ditty I threw together one nigt when I couldn’t sleep at two Tumblr users request based on a photo that Sam posted on Instagram. It turned out more sweet than smutty, mostly because I didn’t want to scare people away from reading the rest of I Choose You ;)

**To Bed, Or To Sleep**  
PG-13ish  
_Based on[this](https://instagram.com/p/9B_DDogmzy) photo posted by Sam on Instagram._

* * *

 

“You could just sleep there, you know. We’d both be more rested,” her muffled voice comes from somewhere beneath the duvet and, possibly, a pillow.

He cringes; his nose wrinkling as he realizes his rustling through the linen closet for a towel likely woke her.

“Sorry,” he stage whispers as he pulls the door to the bedroom closed. He stares at it for a second, wondering why exactly it is that he always shuts the door seeing as there’s no one else in the apartment aside from the cat. Exercise endorphins do strange, strange things to your thought process late at night.

By the light from the window he can see an arm emerge from the depths of the covers to flatten back the swells of blankets before a sleep-tousled head follows, big eyes blinking sleepily at him. He perches just on the edge of the bed, one arm braced on the other side of her bent legs while trying to keep his sure to be sweat-ripe clothes contained to the smallest amount of bedclothes real estate as possible.

“When did they let you go?” he asks, cocking a head as she draws her legs up until she’s a living comma, snuggling under the covers and letting her eyes drift back shut the blanket fall just across the bridge of her nose.

“Around 7. I had every intention of making dinner…and then I fell asleep on the couch.”

“Did you eat?” he asks, moving his hand to squeeze her calf.

“Yes, mom.” She retorts, cracking one eye open. Even in the moonlight he can see the teasing glint, and, without weighing the possible ramifications of his actions he quickly drapes his body across hers, flipping her back onto her back and pinning her to the mattress.

“Oh Jesus,” she squeaks, along with letting out a less than feminine grunt as all of her air is forced from her lungs.

“Again, I ask, did you eat?” He asks, almost nose to nose with her so that all either one of them can see is blue eyes and bedhead.

She frees a hand out from under his weight and shoves it against his chest to lift him off her slightly, “Yes. Takeout. There’s more in the fridge. God, Sam,” she says, her dainty nose wrinkling, “you smell like the wrong end of a mule.”

“You like it,” he says with a smile before running his still sweaty face along the crease of her neck.

“I’d like it more if you showered so my sheets don’t smell like gross boy until I find time to change them again.” She retorts, lips pursed and both hands braced against his shoulders now to hold his face away from her.

He leans down, pressing against her resistance just enough to catch those pursed lips in a quick, but far from chaste, kiss.

“As you wish,” he said, eliciting a giggle, “I’ll be right back.”

***

His shower wasn’t the fastest on record, that belonged to the morning that they’d been surprised by a certain producer at an unspeakable hour, but it was fast enough to get all the requisite parts washed and smelling less like he’d just rolled around on a gym mat for the past two hours. Rubbing a towel back through his hair, pajama pant slung low on his hips, he stepped back into the bedroom and tossed the towel onto the chair by the bathroom door.

This action earned him a grunt from the vicinity of the bed. He rolled his eyes and picked up the towel, hanging it on the hook behind the door.

“Much better, I’ll have you trained yet.”

He slid under the covers, turning onto his side and scooting closer to “her side” and reaching out a hand to draw her closer to him.

“Hi again,” she breathes, one hand cupping his cheek. She fisted the other hand into his hair and tugged his lips to hers, allowing her body to slide flush against his. Their questing mouths muffled his groan, but it reverberates bone deep and sends sparks pinging off of every nerve ending in his body. The hand on his cheek rasps against his stubble before settling to cup his jaw, thumb stroking from cheekbone to jaw over and over again as if by compulsion.

He shifts, bringing her more underneath him than next to him and her arms slide to wrap around his back, their tongues still dancing together. He draws back slightly, nipping and sipping from her lips, before diving back in headlong.

They were good at this. Really good at this. How could it have ever been a question if this would be this good?

He pulls back slightly, reluctantly releasing her lips and resting his forehead against hers and breathing together, chests heaving.

“If that’s the way you’re going to say hi to me every time I’m late, maybe I’ll start working out at night more often,” he mutters, voice low and rumbly with arousal.

“Don’t count your chickens,” she teases, hands skating up and down his bare back before resting just underneath the elastic of his pants and slightly cupping a cheek in each hand, “unlike someone, I’ve got a 5:30 pickup, and it’s already almost 12.”

He groaned, bussing his lips against the tip of her nose before dropping his head to her shoulder and kissing his way up her neck making her squirm and arch toward him, hands gripping his ass and pulling him flush against her.

“You’re playing dirty tonight, sir.”

“Is there another way to play?” his voice rasped in her ear and she let out an involuntary gasp as he ground his hips slowly against hers. He trailed his tongue along her jaw, and traced her earlobe before settling his lips along the shell of her ear. He felt her shiver and smile against his cheek and extracted one of her hands from their quest beneath his pants to lace their fingers together by her head on the pillow.

Her breath sped up, muscles tensing, as he worshipped the same spot over and over again with his tongue. He’d learned in their first true weeks together that she had “spots”, and her ear was one of them. He nipped softly at the delicate cartilage before pressing soft, open mouth kisses to her temple, across her cheekbone and to the tip of her nose before settling back to her lips. He resolutely kept it chaste, sipping softly at the corners of her mouth, drinking her in and relishing in the fact that he was allowed to.

 

She grunted in frustration, burying one of her hands in his hair and holding his lips to hers, tongue dancing into his mouth before flitting back into her own. Her own game of cat and mouse. He released her hand on the pillow and it immediately fitted itself to his jaw as she tilted and moved beneath him, seeking out the best angle while simultaneously, rhythmically, sliding her hips against his.

His hands skate up her ribcage, causing her to squirm and release his lips as she breaks into breathless giggles. She narrows her eyes at him and pushes one hand against his chest, levering him away from her until he flops on his side beside her, heavy breathing ruffling her hair.

She turns to face him, one finger tracing the bridge of his nose and playing across his full lips. He can see the wistfulness and apology in her eyes, along with utter exhaustion and more than a little wantonness, and smiles, chuckling softly.

“Rain check,” he mumbles into her hair, pulling her toward him and turning her so she’s spooned up against him.

She shifts against him and he stills her hips with one hand, causing her to grunt in frustration.

“Really,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her temple, “you’re exhausted. Sleep, lass. We’ll pick up where we left off tomorrow night. I’ll even take you to dinner first and skip the gym.”

“High praise,” she says with a jaw-cracking yawn, rubbing her cheek against the pillow and reaching behind her to drag his arm around her waist and link their fingers back together.

He feels her relax against him, her breathing slowly evening out, and he traces his thumb back and forth against the back of her hand. He feels his eyes getting heavy as he pulls his knees up to let her thighs rest against them, thoroughly embracing his position as the big spoon.

They’ll both sleep well tonight. They always sleep better together.


	2. Gus the Dinosaur Bus

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This ficlet does not necessarily directly follow the one prior. You do not have to read the one before for it to make sense. In essence, these are all stand alone one-shot ficlets!
> 
> Sam attends a Balfe family gathering. That's pretty much it ;)

        

* * *

 

    “Are you sure about this?” she asks for the fifth time in the span of twenty minutes as she fidgets with her tea in the cup holder with one hand and drumming on the windowsill with the other.

 

            He smiles at her before forcing her to release her death grip on her tea and laces his fingers with hers, pulling her hand to rest on his thigh. She huffed out a breath and sank back against the set as he traced the webbing between her thumb and forefinger. Her head tilts to look at him, cheek pressed against the headrest.

 

            “Sorry,” she whispers, cheeks going pink, “I’m nervous.”

 

            “I know,” he says, squeezing her hand and smiling but keeping his eyes on the road. “And yes, I’m sure. I wouldn’t have flown all the way here and then let you control the radio for the past hour if I wasn’t.”

 

            She narrows her eyes and him and clicks her tongue but smiles at him anyway.

 

            “They’re just…a lot to take. I feel like I’m throwing you to the wolves.”

 

            “Is it really throwing me to the wolves if I agreed to go without coercion?”

 

            “You may be singing a different tune after my uncles interrogate you about your sports team preferences.”

 

            He spares a glance from the road to roll his eyes at her, “Hi, have we met? I have no problem with that.”

           

            She laughs, a giggle that turns into a full body chuckle, her shoulders bouncing, “We’ll see.”

 

* * *

 

 

            Its early when they get into town, they still have two hours before they’re expected to make an appearance at the party. He’s booked them into a bed and breakfast without consulting her first. She’s only mildly embarrassed when she recognizes the owner as on of her primary school teachers. Luckily, the elderly woman doesn’t seem to put the tall girl in skinny jeans and a leather jacket with long dark hair together with the absolutely tiny girl with the pageboy bob and school uniform.

 

            The café they stop in for caffeine pick me up is quaint, five round tables in a room barely bigger than his apartment back in Glasgow sandwiched between a tailor and a barbershop. But despite its inherent smallness, it’s airy and light and exudes a certain feeling of home. The rotund owner is occupied, yelling at someone in rapid-fire Gaelic on the telephone, oblivious to their entrance. They seat themselves and he reaches across to toy with her hand on the table.

She grins at him and blushes, linking their fingers together and glancing around the small restaurant.

           

            “It’s good to be home, huh?” he asks, brushing a thumb across her knuckles.

 

            She makes a noise of ascent; “It’s weird hearing the Irish Gaelic after being submerged in the Scots for so long.”

 

The owner has finally noticed he has customers and bustles over to his table, wiping floury hands on his smudged apron and pulling an order pad out of his waistband.

 

He smiles as she leans her elbows on the table and smiles up at the rotund man.

 

            “Dia dhaoibh ar maidin,” she says with a smile. The man blinks, taken aback, but cracks a smile back at her.

 

            “Dia dhuit ar maidin. I must say, I didn’t expect such a young lassie to still be capable in the Gaelic.” He flips the order pad open and pulls a pen from behind his ear.

 

            “I’m rusty, but like an elephant…” she says making the man laugh and Sam smiles at her from across the table. The smallest things make him love her even more, her modesty about her abilities and slight self-deprecation when complimented is one of those small things.

 

            “What can I get for the two of you?” He asks, pen ready to take their order.

 

            “Espresso and a…” she starts, raising an eyebrow at him, he grins at her and motions for her to continue. “Two espresso.”

 

            “Quit looking at me like that,” she mutters to him as the owner ambles his way back behind the counter.

 

            “Like what?”

 

            She narrows her eyes at him before cracking a smile and ducking her gaze, blushing madly.

 

            “So,” he starts after a minute, “what’s in store for me at this party?”

 

            “Lots and lots of Balfes. Lots.”

 

            “Define lots…”

 

            “My dad’s siblings, all their requisite kids and grandkids, my siblings and all of their kids, a smattering of other relatives, a family friend or two, no one too scary.”

 

            “Hi, have you met your dad?”

 

            “He’s not scary!”

 

            He raises his eyebrows and sits back, pulling her arm further across the table.

 

            “Okay he was scary that one time. But you were half dressed and bloody!” she’s exasperated, and trying to tug her hand back from him but he’s persistent. She sighs and scoots her chair around the table so they’re closer and their hands can rest between them more easily.

 

            “Now we’re same-siders,” she says, wrinkling her nose. He laughs and leans over to press a kiss to her temple. “I guess I can deal with it.”

 

            “Good. Anyway. Your dad met me as coworker. This is…different,” he replies, giving her hand a light squeeze.

 

            “It’ll be fine. I promise.”

 

* * *

 

 

            “I wondered where you got off to…” she started, seeing the top of his head peeking up over the back of the armchair.

 

            She leaned over the back of the chair to press a kiss to the crown of his head when she noticed he was not alone in the chair.

 

            “What are you two up to?” she asked with a smile, unable to resist pressing that kiss to the top of his head and running her hand through her niece’s silky curls.

 

            “Unca Sam is reading Gus!” the tiny girl crowed, holding up the book so she could see.

 

            Caitriona smiled, coming around to sit on the arm of the chair next to the tiny girl. He slid the arm that had been cradling her in his lap to wrap around Caitriona’s waist, resting his hand on her thigh.

 

            “Miss Evie here saved me from the ‘big boys’ and is introducing me to Gus the Dinosaur Bus,” Sam said, she could practically hear his smile.

 

            “Ah yes, Gus and I are good friends. Is he doing the voices?” Cait asked, cocking an eyebrow at Sam.

 

            The little girl shook her head, curls bouncing, “Nope,” she tilted her head back to look at Cait, “but he does talk funny. Auntie Kitty did you know he talked funny?”

            Sam raised a matching eyebrow at the moniker, and Cait shook her head and smiled, “I hadn’t noticed.”

 

            “Auntie Kitty?” he asks, looking up at her with knitted brows. She shrugs.

 

            “Ciaran couldn’t say Caitriona when he was little. We tried “Auntie Cat” but he made the connection with a cat and a kitty so I became “Auntie Kitty” instead. It stuck.”

 

            Evie tapped the book with her tiny hand, “Auntie Kitty you are interrupting, go away.”

 

            They both barked a laugh and she stood up, causing his hand to slide across her thigh.

 

            “I’ll leave you to it,” she said leaning over to kiss her head and catch the corner of his mouth in a soft kiss, “I’ll be outside.”

 

* * *

 

 

            “Do you realize that every single one of you have the same eyes? It’s a little disconcerting,” he asked her after he found her lingering under a tree lit with white lights in her aunt’s back yard.  

 

            Her sister laughs, “That’s the first time anyone’s put it like that. I’m going to get another drink. Anything?”

 

            The both shook their heads and he edges an arm around her waist. His big hand spans her hip easily, pulling her into his warmth. It’s not cold, but now that the sun has gone down it’s not exactly warm either.

 

            “This has been some party,” he says into her hair as she wraps her arms around his waist underneath his coat.

 

            “They all love you. I told you,” she says, resting her chin on his shoulder and melting into him. He pulls back and fixes her with a look that plainly says ‘were you or were you not the one freaking out about that earlier?’. She laughs, and edges one of her hands into his back pocket.

 

            “Well good. But there’s only one Balfe whose opinion really matters in that area,” he says quietly, taking his free hand and tilting her chin up so he can brush a soft kiss across her lips.

 

            She’s smiling when he pulls back, eyes still closed, long lashes against high cheekbones.

 

            “Speaking of, where is Evie?”

 

            She laughs and gives him a quick pinch on the rear, “I didn’t realize I would have to compete for your affection with a four year old.”

 

            “What can I say, she’s hilarious.”

 

            She squints, pursing her lips at him, “How many rounds of Gus did you have to go through?” When he blushes she chuckles and continues, “She’s had you wrapped around her tiny little finger since she…”

 

            As if on cue, a tiny body rockets out of the back door and runs headlong into their knees.

 

            Someone shouts “Evie!” from the house, but the little girl is giggling and holding onto their legs for dear life. She looks up at them, big eyes blinking seriously.

 

            “Colin is being MEAN.”

 

            She disentangles the tiny girl from their legs and scoops her up, causing her to wrap her arms around her neck in a bear hug.

 

            “Auntie Kitty tell him not to be so mean to me.”

 

            “Were you maybe doing something to annoy him, little mouse?” Caitriona asks, leaning back so she can see the little girl’s face. She shakes her head, brunette bangs falling into her eyes.

 

            “No! I was just trying to play with him,” she says, eyes big and lower lip trembling. Cait brushes her hair back out of her eyes and presses a kiss to her forehead before putting their foreheads together causing the girl to go cross eyed and giggle.

 

            “How about we go inside and I’ll read you Gus? I’ll even do the voices,” Caitriona says, swinging the girl around to rest on her hip. She is still while she contemplates between continuing to annoy her big brother or having her favorite aunt read her favorite story. She wriggles mightly to get down, and Caitriona gently lowers her to the ground and she’s off as fast as her Mary Jane clad feet can carry her back into the house to find her book.

 

            She pauses once she hits the flagstone walkway to the back door and turns around with her hands on her hips.

 

            “Aunt Kitty?”

 

            “Yes, little mouse?”

 

            “When am I gonna get another cousin?”

 

            Caitriona chokes and Sam barely manages to stifle a laugh as he tightens his hold around her waist. She cocks an eyebrow at him before calling back to the little girl, “lets focus on getting you an Uncle first.”

 

            They can see the girl’s frown of confusion, even across the dim backyard. She nods and turns, back on her mission to find her book.

 

            “Unca Sam, you can come too,” she calls from the back door, “I’ll let you turn the pages!”

 

           

 

           

           

 

 

 


	3. Dark and Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Teetering along that careful wire of how to be happy when someone else is not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got three anon prompts on tumblr today asking me to snippet fic/ficlet based on today's events, and one yesterday requesting a ficlet of either of our intrepid duo consoling or congratulating the other on their nominations. This isn’t a topic I necessarily wanted to broach, but once a niggling little idea gets in my head it doesn’t like to let go. 
> 
> I also worry this is too “St. Sam”, which is a trope I hate in fic. If it is, I guess it is what it is. I promise we’ll be back to our regularly scheduled smut soon.
> 
> (Also - two postings in two days? WHO AM I?!)

 

* * *

 

 

 

He finds the apartment dark, which is welcome after the bright lights of the gym and a day that can only be described as the epitome of “a day”. He’s tired, and his bed sounds more than inviting.

He flicks on the kitchen light and his keys make a satisfying clatter against the sides of the glass bowl he tosses them in on the table. He drops his gym bag with a thump and toeing off his shoes to leave by the door.

Her presence would have gone unnoticed if it weren’t for the muted glow of her cell phone, sitting silent on the coffee table next to her – a ridiculous picture of the two of them on vacation floating across the screen with each notification.

She’s under the crochet blanket that had been a gift from his grandmother for one birthday or another. The red and white stripes were fisted in one hand, which her cheek was in turn pillowed on. He sits, quietly, on the coffee table in front of her and studies her face by the spill of light from the kitchen.

Her hair is still in a curly disarray from the day’s work. She’s forced it into submission in some semblance of a ponytail on top of her head. Her cheeks are flushed pink in sleep and in warmth, and her eyebrows knit and lips purse slightly from time to time. He hates to wake her, but she’ll hate herself tomorrow if she sleeps on the couch.

He runs a finger down her cheek and she smiles before scrunching her face and nuzzling further into the pillow.

“Hey,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to her jaw right below her ear, “rise and shine.”

She stirs, eyes blinking open slowly and sleepily, struggling to focus on him in the dark.

“Hi,” she croaks.

He smiles at her and offers a hand to help her sit up. She takes it, but doesn’t move to sit. She’s peering at him, eyes narrowing against the dark, trying in vain to see his face.

She opens her mouth to speak, but he tugs on her hand and shakes his head.

“Lets get you to bed, aye?”

She allows him to pull her to her feet and she steps toward him to lean against him, wrapping herself around him like the old blanket.

“Hi,” she whispers again, into the fabric of his t-shirt.

He presses a kiss to the top of her head and they sway together slightly.

“I’m pretty sure I stink,” he says, moving to step back.

“You don’t,” she assures him, refusing to unlock her arms from around him.

He makes a face, but then realizing she can’t see him answers “I can smell myself. Go crawl in,” he says, stepping back and steering her toward the bedroom. “I’m going to shower. I’ll be quick.”

***

She’s still awake when he returns to the bedroom, propped against a pillow with the lamp on the bedside table on, smiling as she reads a notification on her phone. When she realizes he’s returned she quickly returns her phone to the table and rubs her hands on the soft down comforter on the bed.

“Hey, no,” he says, shaking his head as he sheds his towel and pulls on a soft pair of sleep pants and flipping off the light before crawling into what has quickly become his side of the bed. She looks so guilty that all he can think to do is tug her down so they lay on their sides facing each other.

She blinks at him, studying him for a moment before saying simply, softly, and bluntly, “this sucks.”

He lets out a small chuckle before pulling her closer until she ducks her head to tuck her face in the side of his neck.

“Have I told you how proud I am of you?” he whispers, his breath causing escaped hair to flutter against her ear. She’s quiet, and it’s a minute before he feels the hot wet against his neck. She sniffles against him.

“I’ll take that as a no,” he says quietly, tightening his hold on her and peppering her hairline with kisses and running one hand up and down between her shoulder blades.

“This sucks,” she says again into his neck, pressing a kiss against the pulse in his carotid and running her nose up the underside of his jaw, leaving small kisses in her wake.

He’s quiet, and continues his ministrations up and down her back. She’s right - it does suck. But somehow saying it aloud diminishes how incredible today was for her while it simultaneously went down the shitter for her. She shouldn’t feel guilty, but he knows she does.

He pulls back, sliding down on the pillow so he’s eye to eye with her as she wipes her tears on his pillow.

“You are incredible,” he says, running a thumb along her cheekbone and catching a stray tear. “Sam…”

“No. Stop,” he says before leaning forward and pressing a soft kiss to her lips to quiet her.

“I am so proud of you and so happy, we should be celebrating – and unless those are tears of joy, we’re doing a really shit job of it,” he says smoothing her hair back. Her eyes are still misty as she wraps a hand around his bicep and pulls his lips back to hers.

The kiss is slow, languid, and wet. It’s one of those kisses that, if anyone else was listening or it was done in public, would sound borderline pornographic. But, at the same time, it’s infused with all the feelings neither of them can put into words. It’s all their elation and disappointment, excitement and trepidation wrapped up into a neat package. There’s barely a millimeter of space between them when they reluctant return for air.

“I want to take you out,” he says, pressing a kiss to the tip of her nose. “We should celebrate for real.”

“There’s rumor of a party Saturday,” she says, eyes downcast. He shakes his head.

“I want to take YOU out, not all the bloody people we work with. Just me and you. Tomorrow. To Celebrate,” he clarifies. He really is immeasurably proud of her.

Her eyes meet his again and he can tell she’s studying him closely. He teeth rake her bottom lip before a small smile teases at the corner of her mouth.

“Okay.”

“Okay,” he breathes, turning her so he’s spooned against her back. She catches his hand and tugs it around her waist, entwined fingers resting on her stomach.

He’s almost asleep when she shifts against him, pulling his hand up to her mouth and kissing his knuckles.

“I love you,” she whispers, tentative in the dark.

‘Three words’, he muses with a smile. It only took three words to fix today. The ache of disappointment is still there, of course, but it’s brightness has suddenly decreased a notch and the space in his heart not taken up by her already has shrunk an equal amount.


	4. Remote Control Control

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written way back in December (eep, sorry!) for a White Elephant exchange on Tumblr. It's short, and based on these two gifs: 
> 
> http://38.media.tumblr.com/2f0c7b87ec747cbaf2325836e739e7ec/tumblr_inline_nzujarjXXY1qce4xc_540.gif  
> http://38.media.tumblr.com/c3958375e2aa5e611d8ef807c8c3e29f/tumblr_inline_nzujarKVHl1qce4xc_540.gif
> 
> It's just a short, silly thing, but I've been silent for too long!

The rattle of keys in the lock somehow reaches him through the din of the television, causing him to shift on the couch so he can see the entryway. The spill from the hallway light on the other side of the door illuminates her silhouette as she enters, toeing off her boots before the door has even shut behind her.

“Hey,” he calls, “didn’t realize you were coming over, I would have cleaned up…”

He swings his feet off the sofa to make room for her and puts his glass on a folded napkin on the coffee table. She’d been after him to get coasters after one of his pint glasses had left a “horrible” water ring on the wood months ago. He’s never remembered to grab any at the store, so in the interim, a folded napkin will have to suffice.

She strips off her winter clothing accoutrements as she makes her way through the apartment. Her purse is dropped with a thud, indicating at least one of her many books is nestled inside, by the entryway baseboards. Gloves are tossed, with keys, onto the sideboard table, scarf is dropped haphazardly to the floor and pushed to the side with a sock clad toe.

He’s slightly surprised when she stands in front of him and uses her hands to push his knees together so she can slide, straddling both legs, into his lap. His hands drop to her waist as she scoots closer to his chest, seemingly trying to burrow her way into him.

“Hey,” he says again softly as he runs one hand up the bumps of her spine, “what’s going on?”

She shakes her head and buries her face in his neck before linking her arms around his back and sighing. He nods and rests his cheek against the crown of her head as he continues softly stroking her back.

“You wanna talk about it?” he asks after a minute.

She grumbles against his neck, which tickles and makes him laugh and pull away a little.

“I’m gonna need that again, in English this time preferably.”

“I’m tired of being cold,” she says, pulling back from his neck long enough to get the words out before burrowing back in. He chuckles, linking his arms behind her back and turning so he can slide them both horizontal on the couch. He releases her with one hand to tug the blanket off the back of the couch and cover them both. It’s not quite big enough to cover two people who are as tall as they are, so his feet stick out absurdly, but she’s mostly covered and that’s all that matters.

“Better?” he asks, awkwardly pulling his face back to try to meet her eyes.

“Much,” she sighs, squirming to get the blanket just how she wants it and make herself comfortable on her Sam-pillow. When she’s situated she raises herself up on her hands to look him in the face, “Hi.”

He smiles and she leans down to snare his lips in a sweet kiss hello.

“I was wondering when you’d get around to that,” he says when she pulls back for a breath, smiling against her lips.

“Sorry,” she replies, wrinkling her nose and rubbing it softly against his. “I’m beginning to forget what heat from the sun feels like.”

He pats her hip and reaches up to tuck her hair back behind her ears, “Another week, then it’s warmth for a solid week.”

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep, Heughan,” she says, knitting her brows at him.

“Me? Never.” he says with a laugh, reaching up to kiss her again. She sighs and pillows her head back on his chest, finally acknowledging the television.

“Really? Again?” she asks with a groan, turning her head to burrow her face into his sternum.

“You say that like it’s possible to watch this too many times,” he scoffs, reaching for the remote to turn up the volume.

“You’ve watched it four times in the past two weeks,” she retorts, voice muffled by his chest.

“Wrong. I’ve watched it once in the past two weeks.”

She lifts her head up to raise an eyebrow and purse her lips at him.

“Okay, fine. Twice.”

“I have seen Harrison Ford more than twice on that television in the past two weeks.”

He shakes his head and points at the TV with the remote, “This is Return of the Jedi. We watched the original and Empire Strikes back last weekend. Or I watched, I’m pretty sure you played Candy Crush.”

“I did not! They all blur together,” she grumbles.

“I’m revoking your nerd card for that.”

“I don’t have a nerd card to revoke.”

“Touché.”

“I do like that gold guy, though, and Chewie,” she says, peeking up at him for his reaction before adding, almost as an after thought, “And Harrison Ford.”

“You would like the Wookie. I’m choosing to ignore the fact that you called C3P0 the ‘gold guy’ and the Harrison Ford comment entirely.”

She sighs and presses a kiss to his collarbone before shifting so she can be face to face with him.

“Will this obsession stop after we see the new one?”

“Define stop.”

“I’ll get to choose the movies for a while?”

“Define a while.”

“You’re such an ass,” she says, laughing, as she gives his side a pinch.

“Ok fine. After we see the new one, you’ll get control of the remote. But, since we haven’t had a moment to breathe when we’re both free at the same time and tickets are hard to come by, that may be a while.”

She grins at him.

“Why are you smiling? You look like the cat,” he says, booping her nose with a finger before sliding his hand down her back to rest on the curve of her ass, “that ate the canary.”

“We’re both done at three tomorrow.”

“And?”

“You,” she says, pressing a quick peck to one side of his mouth, “Me,” the other side gets the same treatment, “6:30, 3D-DBOX. We’ve got a date with Harrison Ford.”

She lets out a whoop as he flips them over and pins her down, kissing her soundly.

He pulls away, breathing heavily, and leans to whisper in her ear, “do the impression again.”

“Not on your fucking life, Heughan.”


	5. In The Small Hours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nightmares and separation anxiety plague our leading lady.
> 
> PSA: This is more fluff than smut. Which is not my usual MO but I've been feeling less than inspired lately so you get what you get ;)
> 
>  
> 
> Feedback is always welcome and much appreciated! Leave it here, at my tumblr (cricketjames.tumblr.com), or on twitter (@cricketjames1) - suggestions/prompts for future chapters can be left at the same locations ;)

* * *

 

When she surfaces from sleep it’s abrupt, almost as if she’s been doused with a bucket of cold water. Her pajamas, the bed sheets, and her entire body are coated in a thin film of clammy sweat. Her fingers are still twisted in the bedclothes, as the dream that startled her into wakefulness slips away in wisps.

 

She stares at the ceiling trying to get her frantic panting and racing heart back under control, while momentarily at a loss for where she is. That is until she hears a muffled “mrow?” from the foot of the bed.

 

Home. She’s home. Eddie is at the foot of the bed, so she clearly must be home. Or where ever her definition of home is at the moment.

 

She takes another minute to breathe, kicking her tangled legs free from the sheets and duvet as she runs her hands through what used to be a topknot in her hair, pushing the sweaty strands back from her face.

 

This isn’t the first night she’s been awoken by a nightmare. It isn’t even the first time this week. The dreams are coming with frightening regularity and she wishes she could remember just what the fuck scared her so bad her brain screamed WAKE UP.

 

But she can’t. She never can – and that scares her more than the dream itself. She’s never been one to remember her dreams on a nightly basis, but she’s never been one to have absolutely zero recollection of them upon waking either.

 

The clock glows “1:16” in its muted blue and she quickly does the mental math. It’s only nine, ten at the latest. He should be awake. She fumbles her phone off the nightstand and squints as it blares blue light into her still sleepy eyes.

 

She has two missed text messages, sent an hour and a half ago.

 

“Goodnight” with a kissy face emoji, followed quickly by a “Shit, sorry, you’re probably already asleep” with the sad, downcast emoji.

 

That boy and his emojis.

 

She fires off a quick kissy face back and rests her phone, face down, on her sternum as she stares at the dark ceiling, trying to recall anything she can about the dream.

 

She’s pieced together a whole lot of nothing when her phone vibrates against her chest. Sliding the answer button with her thumb she can hear the noise on his end and he speaks before she even say hello.

 

“I’m sorry I woke you up.”

 

“You didn’t. Wherever you are, it’s loud,” she replies, voice cracking from sleep and disuse.

 

“That’s your sleepy voice. Hang on, let me get in the cab.”

 

She holds, listening to his end of the conversation with a cabbie as he gives the cross streets of Spring and Crosby. There’s a rustle of fabric and the slamming of a door before he gets back on the line.

 

“Sorry, I’m back.”

 

“It’s okay.”

 

“So, if I didn’t wake you up, what’s with the middle of the night text?”

“It’s nine o’clock.”

 

“Yeah, here its nine, But it’s…what…half one there?”

 

“Potayto, potahto,” she grumbles, wiggling so she’s further beneath the duvet.

 

The line is quiet for a minute, she’s just listening to him breathe and the sounds of the city filtering through what sounds like a partially open cab window. She smiles, he gets sick in the backseat of cabs – and cabs only, something about the devil may care approach to driving in New York.

 

“What’s wrong?” he asks, breaking the silence. She can hear the concern in his voice and runs the back of her hand over her eyes before answering.

 

“Nothing, really. Just a bad dream.”

 

“Do you want to talk about it?”

 

“Can’t remember it.” She can tell he doesn’t believe her from the exhale on his end, “No, really. I can’t. That’s part of why it was so…unsettling.”

 

He grunts in reply and she smiles.

 

“I miss you,” she all but breathes into the phone.

 

“You have no idea,” she hears the thunk of his head hitting the support of the backseat.

 

“Two more days,” she sighs, fiddling with the edge of the duvet and watching Eddie prepare for an attack on her toes under the blanket.

 

“Less, actually,” his reply is weighted with resignation to the fact that he wont see her for almost forty eight more hours.

“I should let you go,” she says with a sigh as she hears the sharp squeal of breaks in deep need of repair and him fumbling for his wallet.

 

“Hang on,” he mumbles into the phone. She can hear him shift the phone to hold it to his ear with his shoulder.

 

“Thanks, have a good night,” he says to the driver before turning his attention back to her. “But what if I don’t want to…oh, shit. Hey, babe, I gotta go.”

 

She can hear the chatter of women on the other end of the line and sighs, “Go greet your adoring public, I should try to get some sleep.”

 

“I can call you back when I get inside…”

 

“No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

 

“Promise?”

 

“Promise.”

 

“Bye babe,” he breathes into the phone. She returns the endearment and they hang up.

 

The ceiling looks identical as it did hours ago. She has to sleep, or family time tomorrow, not to mention her 6am flight, will be miserable. In these moments she wishes she was brave enough to take something like Ambien, but 2am and unsupervised does not sound like a good idea.

 

* * *

 

 

Her phone had buzzed on the kitchen counter while she helped her mother make bread no less than ten times in a half hour.

 

“My, someone is popular,” her mother had mused, putting a little extra sass in the kneading of her dough and giving her a knowing look.

 

She smiled, tucking her chin against her chest.

 

“Don’t be embarrassed,” her mom replied with a chuckle, resting a floured hand on her shoulder. “You’re happy, that’s a good thing. It’s a nice change.”

 

She’s not embarrassed, she’s giddily happy, but it’s been a very long time since her family has seen her in such a state. That fact in and of itself is maybe a little embarrassing, but she’s chosen to ignore that.

 

Her phone buzzes from its perch by the fruit bowl and her mother jerks her chin toward it.

 

“Go, wash up, talk to your boy,” she says with a smile.

 

She grumbles about referring to him as a boy as she rinses her hands free of flour and bits of dough before scooping her phone off the table and retreating to the back garden.

 

Twelve missed text messages – she must have missed one buzz – all from him. They range from the silly (a shot of the CATS marquee followed by a question as to if Eddie’s CV is up to date), to the sweet (“T-minus 18 hours” and three heart-eyed emoji faces), to the horrifying (a barefoot woman on the subway with toenails like claws).

 

She taps off a text back – “Why are you on the train? Please don’t get any closer to the woman with the feet.”

 

Her phone rings less than two minutes later.

 

“You’re gonna have to be more specific – I find that most women have feet,” he quips as he answers without so much as a hello.

 

“So I take it Talon Woman didn’t get you with her toes,” she says with a smile as she settles back into the lounge chair.

 

“Nah. They were impressive though. I suppose they’d be useful for some things.”

 

“Like what?”

 

“I dunno, climbing trees?”

 

“What time does your flight get in?”

 

“Ah, changing the subject to one I like much more. I approve.”

 

“There’s only so much toenail talk a girl can take.”

 

“Why? Getting hot and bothered?”

 

She gags into the phone making him chortle on the other end.

 

“I miss you.”

 

“I’ll see you in...17 hours and 16 minutes. Give or take an hour or so. Weather is kinda crap here and is supposed to continue until tomorrow afternoon so my flight may be delayed.”

 

She makes a dissatisfied noise in her throat and crosses her arms.

 

“Absence makes the heart grow fonder...”

 

“Bullshit.”

 

He laughs again and the sound makes her infinitely happy.

 

“You’re sure you want to stay here?” she asks, unsure of the sanity of deciding to stay at her parents house when they haven’t seen each other for going on two weeks.

 

“Absolutely. I want to see that childhood bedroom of yours,” he retorts. She can hear him fiddling with something, a wrapper maybe, on his end.

 

“It doesn’t look much like it used to back then,” she says, cocking her head to eye the window above where she sits. “Mum turned it into a guest room once we were finally out of the house.”

 

“Well that’s not fair,” he says through a mouthful of something.

 

“Amazing manners, Heughan...”

 

“I thought so. Sorry, I was starving...”

 

She listens carefully to the sounds on the other end of the phone before wagering a guess, “McDonalds?”

 

“Oh fuck, gross. No. Jesus, woman. Chipotle. I have passed the damn place four times today and finally couldn’t resist the call of a cilantro filled burrito any longer. Anyway. Back to your childhood bedroom – is it a double bed or, God help us, a twin?”

 

“It’s a queen,” she says, hearing his small grunt of satisfaction on the other end of the line. “But it’s not my childhood bed. Like I said, guest room now. When I was still living in it, it had twin-sized bunk beds. Not exactly conducive to any romantic notions...which may have been their plan all along now that I think about it. Got around that by...nevermind...”

 

“Oh please, do continue.”

 

“Time check?” she asks, craning backward to try to spy the clock inside the door to the kitchen.

 

“Here? Quarter past three. Which makes it....quarter past eight there?”

 

“Sounds about right. You never told me exactly when you get in tomorrow.”

 

“Can’t you do math, Balfe?”

 

She huffs into the phone.

 

“My flight lands at just after 2 your time.”

 

“Dublin? Belfast?”

 

“Uhh...Belfast I think?”

 

“You’re sure you don’t want me to come get you? I can borrow mum’s car.”

 

“I’m sure. A rental will do us good over the next several days.”

 

“Oh it will, will it?” she asks quirking a brow.

 

“I have plans for you, Balfe. Just wait and see.”

 

* * *

 

She awakes with a start for the third time in a week, drenched in sweat and the sheets tangled around her legs. She covers her eyes with her hand and breathes deeply to try to slow down her racing heart.

 

She’s almost got herself under control when a muzzy “Whassamatter?” rises from the heap of blankets next to her causing her entire body to lift inches off the mattress and both hands to press to her chest.

 

“Fuck! You scared the shit out of me,” she pants, trying to get herself back under control with both hands covering her face. “I forgot you were there.”

 

He grumps at her, turning over to face her, “I see how it is, gone for two measly weeks and you forget about me.”

 

“I certainly did not,” she replies, peeking through her fingers with one eye.

 

He chuckles and reaches out to tug her arm so she scoots closer to him. He spoons behind her, pressing his blessedly naked body against her.

 

“Bad dreams again,” he asks, noting the now clammy chill of her skin next to his.

 

She nods, burrowing her face in the pillow before turning to face him.

 

“You were thrashing around earlier and I tried to wake you up, but once I managed to get a hold of your arm, you stopped.”

 

“I wish I could remember what it was. If I could, maybe I would stop waking up in a panic three or four nights out of the week.”

 

“Is it work?”

 

“I don’t think so.”

 

“Eddie?”

 

“No, definitely not.”

 

His line of questioning pauses and she feels him tense and back away a fraction of an inch before continuing.

 

“Us?” his question is timid, quiet.

 

“No,” she answers firmly.  

 

“Are you sure?” he asks, searching her eyes. “I mean I would get it if it was. We kind of went from zero to sixty in seconds.”

 

“It’s not us,” she answers again, more firmly. He eyes her warily, but stretches across the small gap between them and pecks a kiss to the tip of her nose.

 

“Ok.”

 

She frees both hands and pulls him closer to her by his cheeks.

 

“I promise, it’s not us,” she says, punctuating her words with a slow, languid kiss. When his eyes finally blink back open, he smiles at her, a true smile.

 

She blinks back and grins at him before diving in for another kiss.

 

“My, we’re aggressive tonight,” he says between kisses, sliding so their legs are intertwined.

 

“Don’t get any fancy ideas. These walls are so thin I don’t know how we managed to not wake up the whole house earlier...”

 

“Aw, mum and dad don’t fancy hearing their baby girl...fornicating?”

 

She barks out a laugh and slaps a hand over her own mouth, “That is not how I expected you to finish that sentence. At all. Fornicate? Really?”

 

“Well,” he says, blushing madly, “fucking felt wrong in the moment.”

 

She can’t help herself as she goes to pieces, giggling. Its been a solid two weeks since she laughed – really laughed – and it feels wonderful.

 

“You’re going to wake them up cackling like that,” he says, surprising her with a tug and a roll so she’s pinned under him.

 

“Sam...we can’t...” she objects as his hands slide up her sides.

 

“Oh but we can,” he retorts, grinding his very apparent – and very naked – arousal against her thigh.

 

She closes her eyes and her head tilts back and he seizes the opportunity to latch onto her neck like a lamprey.

 

“I swear to God if I have to answer any awkward questions or even get so much as a weird look from my mother tomorrow...” she breathes as they shift so he’s situated between her thighs.

 

“Hey, you’re the loud one – not me,” he quips as he kisses across her collarbones. She smacks his shoulder, but her hand falls lip against the mattress as he nudges a nipple with the tip of his nose before circling it enticingly with his tongue. She gasps and lets out a light moan as he nips at it lightly and he pulls back to look her in the face.

 

“Hey, quiet – remember?” he says with an eyebrow waggle before returning to his task.

 

Thank Christ they have a hotel room for the rest of their stay.

 

 


End file.
